


Losing My Religion

by transmarkcohen



Series: Markermi Series [1]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Heavy Angst, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-16 03:18:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 8,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transmarkcohen/pseuds/transmarkcohen
Summary: Mark, Roger, and Mimi have been dating for a while.Then things change.





	1. I Thought That I Heard You Laughing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeadlinesBreadlinesBlowMyMind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadlinesBreadlinesBlowMyMind/gifts).



> Reader discretion strongly advised. Work has strong material. As mentioned in the tags, graphic depictions of violence. Read at your own risk.

        December 31st. 10 A.M. Eastern Standard Time. Upper East Side, New York City.

        The Skid Row of the Big Apple. That’s been Roger’s nickname for it, lately. From _Little Shop of Horrors_. Mark shakes his head as he films, hoping he’s getting a good enough angle of the club where his girlfriend works.

        He has a girlfriend again. It’s still weird, still new and strange and foreign to Mark.

        And he has a boyfriend.

        That part’s not weird though. He’s been dating Roger for longer than he’s been dating Mimi.

         He zooms in on the neon letters above the club.

           Lost in thought, filming, something bumping into him-  
          “Ow! Fuck! What the fuck?!” Mark whirls around to see who it is. Mimi Marquez. His girlfriend, laughing and grinning in the snow, her hands gloved and holding a snowball. Mark sighs. “What is it?”  
           Mimi shrugs. “You looked bored.” She kisses Mark’s cheek. “Come in from the cold, baby.”  
          Mark grins. “What, you wanna warm me up?”  
          Mimi gives him the side eye. “Don’t be gross.” She grabs his hand and pulls him into the Catscratch, out of the snow. Once they’re inside, Mimi pulls Mark closer to her, making him kiss her. He places one hand on her cheek as she unravels his scarf and hangs it up. “Wipe your boots off.”  
          Mark kicks off his boots and his snowed-on socks. Mimi hangs up her coat next to his scarf. Noticing Roger’s jacket, they glance at each other.  
         “He’s already here?”  
         “Apparently.”  
         Getting an idea and that look in their eyes that couples get when they’re telepathically linked, they grin and run to Mimi’s dressing room. There he is. Sitting on her couch and strumming his guitar like a-  
         “Total douchebag,” Mimi teases as she comes over to him and kisses him. Smiling, he kisses back, Mark standing awkwardly behind his girlfriend and fiddling with his camera.  
         “Mark, come here.”  
         He does so and leans down to kiss Roger. It’s gentle, sweet. Them as a couple.  
        Until they’re in bed.  
        “Why are you here?” Mimi asks, turning to the mirror to fix her hair. She’s got half an hour before her next show, anyway. Might as well start getting ready.  
        Roger shrugs. “Couldn’t find inspiration anywhere else.” He pulls Mark down to sit on the couch beside him and wraps an arm around his boyfriend.  
       For fifteen minutes, the dressing room is quiet, filled only with the scratching of a pencil on paper or the click of a camera option button or that moment where Mimi drops her hairbrush and swears like a sailor.  
       By the time Mimi’s ready, Roger’s fallen asleep on Mark and is snoring. Heavily. Mark looks back and forth between him and Mimi. “You can talk now, you know,” Mimi says, amused. “He can’t hear anything if he’s sleeping this deeply.”  
       “I know,” says Mark-what’s the word?-salty as hell. “I can’t get up.”  
       “It’s because you’re small.”  
       Mark frowns. “I’m not that short.”  
       Mimi grins and gives him a peck. “Whatever you say, baby. I’ll see you later.” She walks out the door and heads to her show, leaving Mark to stare after her and wonder how the hell he’s going to get Roger off of him.


	2. I Thought That I Heard You Sing

~~~~

They walk back home in the snow together, Mark and Roger and Mimi. Talking and laughing. 

 

Mark, though he's known, can't help thinking about it. Mark and Roger and Mimi. Their chosen names.  _ To be warlike.  _ That's what Mark means. One of the reasons he chose it. 

When he was a teenager, when he lived with his parents, when they'd refused to accept that he was, well, male, he’d been 90% certain he'd kill himself by the time he was eighteen. That he'd never be fully out. 

Being fully out and being in a relationship with two other trans people-who were also fully out-the thought had never even occurred to him. 

Thinking about this, Mark all of a sudden remembers that he needs to take off his binder soon. 

“Hey, uh, I’m gonna...go over there,” Mark says, pointing to a dimly lit Italian restaurant. “I have to. You know. Use the bathroom.” Roger smiles, just slightly. He knows the struggle as well as Mark.

“Okay. Be quick.” Mark nods and starts heading over, as Roger and Mimi turn to go window shopping in the store across the street. 

Mark walks over to the restaurant, noticing the couples on dates and families out for a nice evening. As he gets closer he can hear the clatter and clink of silverware, laughing and conversations, and he sees the snow falling gently into the alley next to the restaurant. Mark is about to open the door when someone covers his mouth with their hand, pulling him into the alley, and immediately slipping a blindfold over his eyes.

_ “Don’t. Move. A. Muscle.” _

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. What the hell is going on? Is Mark being  _ kidnapped? _

He blacks out as he’s shoved against the brick wall that borders the restaurant.

 

When he comes to, the blindfold is still on his face. He can hear the clack of heels. Someone is muttering.

“A yellow lab...maybe...makes up for an Akita...he’d better...ah, no, this won’t do. Blindfold off!”

Mark, with his limited knowledge of kidnappers and their motivations, had half-expected Al Capone. Possibly even Alfred Hitchcock.

He had not expected his captor to be Alison Grey of the Westport Greys, his former roommate’s, and current landlord’s wife.

Alison is grinning. Staring down at Mark. He tries to stretch, and realizes he is chained by one of those things that dog owners use to tie their large pets to trees so they don’t leave the yard. And yes, it’s around his neck.

Mark has several questions.

But then the doorbell rings. Alison frantically looks towards it, then back at Mark. “In here with you, dog,” she hisses, shoving him back into the closet. 

The click-clack of heels slowly fades away.

Roger and Mimi are making fun of a pink bonnet in the store window.

“It’s so garish,” says Mimi, grinning at how awful someone’s taste would have to be to wear the frilly piece of clothing. “And ugly.”  
Roger nods in agreement. “Do you think anyone’ll actually buy it?”

Mimi laughs. “No.” She stands up on her tiptoes to kiss Roger, who gently smiles. They look towards the packed restaurant.

It’s been fifteen minutes.

 

Window shopping, and even making fun of the garish bonnet, gets a bit boring when you’ve been at it for-

“An hour,” mutters Roger, looking at his watch. “You think he’s okay in there?”

Mimi frowns. “I don’t…” She stops mid-sentence, noticing something shiny, gleaming, standing out against the snow. It’s laying in the alley next to the restaurant. She and Roger look at each other, then slowly walk over towards it.

Mimi gasps. “No…” She picks it up. 

A 16mm Bolex. 

With the name  MARK COHEN  hastily written in white chalk on the side.


	3. Me In The Spotlight

A closet in a New York City penthouse is even more suffocating than you think it might be.

Mark keeps hoping that this is a dream. He keeps telling himself that, too. He can hear Alison talking to Benny. As if everything’s okay. As if nothing’s happened. As if…

“Hey, uh, have you talked to Mark lately?”

Mark freezes.  _ Please, Benny, just this once, please… _

“No, I haven’t...why?”

Alison’s voice is sweet. Sickly sweet. Like poisoned honey.

“Apparently he’s gone missing. Roger and Mimi said he disappeared. Left his camera behind.”

_ So they know. _

“Huh. Well...I haven’t seen him.”

_ What the fuck? Benny, why the fuck are you married to her? _

 

_ Why the fuck did she kidnap me? _

 

“They’re...really broken up by it. I mean...guy like that, you don’t expect him to just disappear. Especially without his camera.”   
  


_ Why does everyone think I’m addicted to my camera? _

 

“Yes, yes, I know, dear. Look, it’s late, we should get to bed. C’mon. I’ll get you some dinner…”

 

Mark squeezes his eyes shut.

 

_ This can’t be real. _

 

…

 

Sunlight coming in through a crack in the morning is something most people dream of. Mark supposes he’s grateful for the extra light. At least he can see some of the closet this way.

 

And then he hears it...god, how many pairs of heels does Alison  _ own? _

 

“Well, he’s left for work,” Alison says, and Mark can hear it aimed at him. “Now it’s just you and me, doggy.”

She thrusts the closet door open. Her eyes are wild, crazy. She has a grin that says  _ I’m the Queen of Hearts and I’m here for your blood.  _

It doesn’t faze Mark too much. What  _ does  _ faze him is the name.

“Doggy?” he asks, skeptic.  _ Well, who wouldn’t be? She  _ kidnapped  _ me!  _ “What the fuck?”

Alison’s grin melts into a frown. “We’ll need to lay ground rules here. First of all…” She brings two metal bowls out from under the bed. Mark frowns. They’re clearly dog bowls. Alison points at each, saying, “That is for your food, and that is for your water.”

_ Your. _

It’s as if Mark can feel a hole being ripped open in his stomach. What’s going on…? Is Alison going to treat him as if he’s a dog?  
While he’s been thinking, Alison has been placing newspaper in the closet in front of him. “You shit here. And pee. Clearly.”  
“What the _fuck?_ What is this? What are you doing? _Why?!_ Why am I _literally chained up?!”_

The malicious, the snarky, the sarcastic, the evil,  _ evil  _ grin returns. Mark has the strangest feeling that Alison’s a movie villain about to monologue.

“Hmm...let’s start, your friend killed my dog, and I’ve needed a new one ever since. You’ve been meddling in my and my husband’s lives for too long. Besides, you look just like a yellow labrador.”

“Uh-”

Alison slaps Mark. It stings. “Bad boy. Now, you will behave exactly like a dog. You will eat and drink from your bowls, you will urinate and defecate on the newspaper, and if you do not exactly obey me, I will punish you.” A gleam appears in her eyes. “I recently got the most wonderful device with the money I’ve earned from selling smack and everything else. It crushes the lungs.”

Mark tries to back away.

“Oh, no, that won’t do. Whimper. Like the dog you are. Or I will get that device.”

Mark strains against the chain around his neck. “I won’t-”  
“Whimper!” 

Alison’s voice is sharp and pierces Mark’s eardrum. He reluctantly obeys, and she gives a satisfied smile. 

“Good boy.” 


	4. Losing My Religion

The end of January is a good excuse to stay in, cuddle, and continuously watch _Chicago._ Mimi and Roger are on the couch, snuggling underneath a crimson blanket.

     It’s hard to concentrate on the film.

     Mimi interlaces her fingers with Roger’s. Her other hand stays empty. Mark’s not here now.

     Roger feels like the couch is too empty. Only two people doesn't feel very, well, homey.

     He and Mimi, sharing the same thought, scoot closer together. Mimi kisses Roger’s cheek, out of love, in desperation.

    “We’ll find him.”

    The words hang in the air, waiting for a response. Even a _Will we?_ would work.

    Roger lets the words hang.

 

      _We’ll find him._

 

     But will they? They’ve put up numerous missing posters, all over the city. The kind with the tearable phone numbers at the bottom.

    So far, no one’s called.

    Roger and Mimi have watched _Chicago_ at least three times in a row by now.

    They don't remember the plot.

 

………………………………………………

 

    “Good boy.”

    

    Mark is humiliated. Constantly. Every day. Even now.

    Alison pulls the chain taut and he whimpers. It's involuntary by this point. Alison gives her wicked grin. “Around the table.” She pulls on the cruel sort of leash, leading him around the legs, and Mark thinks to himself that this has to be a dream.

    The way she grabs his chin when he doesn't obey her is proof that it's real. “I told you to bark,” she hisses, her sharp fingernails digging into his face-he can feel blood just beginning to spill.“Now. _Bark.”_

   Mark shakes his head, reluctant. He's not going to. He already has to eat _out of a dog bowl_ to keep from starving.

   The three tenants of BDSM are that it must be safe, sane, and consensual. This is none of those.

   Alison straightens up, her face stony. “Very well.” She forces Mark to sit up. It hurts.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Click, clack, click, clack.

  Mark never wants to hear a pair of heels again.

  He glances around the apartment. He's only allowed out of the alcove in the wall, behind the closet, when Alison takes him on these crude ‘walks’. It's a nice place. Of course it is. People like Mark’s captor are rich as all hell.

   Especially when she's- _apparently-_ a drug lord.

   Alison comes back quickly. _Oh God. Please no._

Mark thinks that the only logical explanation for all of this, the reason that she does this, that it's happening to him, is that he's being punished for something he did in a past life.

   That _has_ to be it. Otherwise...otherwise…

 

     Otherwise, Mark is being stripped of his dignity, of his basic right to live as a human, for no reason.

     He begins to shake when he starts to think about it.

     Alison’s face is malevolent. Her eyes are greedy, seeing the way Mark’s shaking with fear.

     Her dog.

     She fastens the contraption around Mark’s chest. “Mr. Crusher,” she announces. Mark tries to stay calm. He can't. He starts hyperventilating.

    And then he can't breathe.

   It's crushing, squishing, squashing his lungs. Mark thinks this is it. That he'll die right now.

   If he does, the last thing he’ll ever see is Alison’s wicked, _wicked_ smile.

 


	5. Life Is Bigger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader discretion strongly advised.

“Why...why are you….I-I...ungh... _ ow!” _

 

“Quiet. Bad boy.”

 

“Why are you doing this?!”

 

“Haven’t. I. Explained this. To you.  _ Already?!  _ Bad boy. Go to your corner. You’ll obey me well enough in time…”

 

“I’m not going to-”

 

“That’s it! I’m getting it.”

 

“No...no! That’s not a...that’s a Heretic’s Fork.”

 

“Yes. It is. Now shut.  _ Up!” _

 

_ “AUGH!” _

 

“This’ll catch the blood. I have a brilliant plan for it.”

 

Silence.

 

A searing pain tears through Mark’s brain as the instrument presses into his chin. The Heretic’s Fork looks somewhat like a wrench. It’s fastened around the victim’s neck, both sharp ends pressing into the sternum and the chin. If the victim dares talk, they bleed. No matter what.

Alison places a small metal cup underneath Mark’s chin to catch the blood. If he weren’t in agonizing pain, he would recognize it as a painter’s tool. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It’s an excruciating sound. Especially when Mark knows it’s his blood that’s causing the sound. “How...how long…” he somehow manages to get out.

Alison grins. “However long you need to think about what you’ve done.”   


 

Mark whimpers. After some amount of time, maybe fifteen minutes, Alison complies and takes the device off of him. She nimbly lifts the paint cup and sets it on the table. Mark watches.

That’s all he  _ can  _ do.

Alison chains him up again, with a ‘you’re out here because no one will find you now,’ and leaves. Mark waits in desperation, in the fear he’s become accustomed to. 

 

Alison comes back.

 

She went to Michael’s. 

 

What the….but Mark can’t question it. He can’t question anything anymore. At the root of it, Alison’s made him into her slave. Her weird dog slave.

So he watches as she sets up an easel, and places the paint cup filled with his blood on the wooden edge of it. She turns to him briefly, smiling. “A yellow lab. Absolutely.”

She takes out a paintbrush, dips it into the cup, and begins painting.

 

Turns out Alison has a knack for working with organic paint. 


	6. Brought Me To My Knees

She’s always there. Even if she’s not. In the back of his mind. In the front. 

 

Hurting, twisting, punishing. Torturing, grinning, looming over him.

 

What’s even real anymore? How long has it been?

 

She’s the only tangible thing by this point. 

 

Her and her tools and ways to destroy his sanity. Numerous devices...her grip on him is just like the chain she uses. Cold. Steely. Permanent.

 

She’s high most of the time. He knows that now. But some sort of twisted logic gets through.

 

Day after day after painful day.

 

She doesn’t stop. No matter how much he hurts or what she’s doing or anything. 

 

She has enough paint to begin another work of art.

 

If it can be called art.

 

Her paintings are beautiful. In some sort of sick way. Some sick, twisted, malicious way.

 

But what does he know?

 

Benny doesn’t know. Benny doesn’t question the paintings.

 

She tells Benny the truth.

 

That she got the paint for free. 

  
She keeps the rest a secret.

 

Benny tells her what’s been going on. Roger and Mimi are still looking.

 

One and a half months. That’s how long it’s been.

It feels longer.

 

Some part of him thinks it’s been shorter.

 

The last shred of hope he has holds on to the good information.  _ Roger and Mimi are still looking. _

 

Who knows what they’ve been going through?

 

Certainly not Mark.

 

He shifts in the closet, trying to get comfortable.

 

It’s impossible.

He should know that by now.

 

The fight’s pushed out of him, until he has but a tiny sliver of that hope left.

 

By the time Benny talks about it again, it’s been two months.

 

When she opens the closet later, she’s wearing that sickeningly familiar grin, and she sees his eyes that have no light left.

“You belong to me.” 


	7. I Think I Thought I Saw You Try

Roger and Mimi are downtown, hanging up more flyers. They have to find him.   
“We just have to,” Roger mutters to himself. Mimi hears him and nods.   
“We will,” she answers. “As long as they don't find a body, it's proof he could still be alive.”   
“Don't even remind me about the possibility that he could be dead.” Roger tapes a flyer onto a telephone pole, smoothing it down. It has one of the rare pictures of Mark from his camera. He's smiling.   
Mimi looks over it a bit. She thinks maybe, if there were someone who looked enough like Mark, that somebody could mix the two up. But she pushes the thought aside and turns towards a restaurant.   
The alley. They’re here. Right next to the spot where Mark was taken.   
Mimi frowns, glancing down it. There's a sinister air to it now. Some snow’s melted. It is the beginning of March, after all. The snow’s gonna melt.   
Roger turns to see what Mimi’s looking at. When he realizes, he scowls. “They took him here.”   
“They did.”   
“I swear to God if I ever find out who it is-” Roger makes a strangling motion with his hands, his face angry. Mark and Mimi are the two things he loves most in this world. He can't lose either of them.   
Mimi squints. “There’s someone coming down here.” She's right. A figure is walking towards them from the end of the alley.  
Roger frowns. “Alison?”   
Alison Grey comes up to them. She's holding a bag of dog food. When she recognizes them, she smiles. “Roger and Mimi, I remember,” she says. “How nice to see you again.”   
Mimi smiles back out of politeness. “The same to you. Er…do you remember Mark? Our boyfriend?” She holds up a flyer.   
Alison takes it. Her nails are painted some kind of bright red. Blood red. She scans the flyer, scrunching up her face to show that she's trying to remember. “Oh! I believe I've seen him…yes, I know that lost puppy-dog look.”   
Roger and Mimi exchange a glance. “Have you seen him recently?” Roger asks.   
“Oh, yes.”   
The two share another glance. An excited one. It's all Roger can do to stop himself from grinning. “When? Where?” he asks excitedly. “You could help us find him! Oh my god...oh my god…” Out of excitement, he grabs Mimi and kisses her. She laughs. She would've done the same if Roger hadn't first.   
Alison thinks. Trying to remember. “Hmm…there was this...scrawny, short man...he wore glasses and rambled on. Talked quite a bit. But he couldn't stay for too long. Gestured a lot.”   
“And you think it was Mark?”   
“Let me see the flyer again.”   
Alison grasps the paper tightly, her nails digging into Mark’s face in the picture. She frowns. “Oh...I believe it was someone else.”   
Roger’s face falls. Mimi frowns.   
“Thanks anyway,” Roger mumbles, snatching the flyer back. He's trying not to cry.   
Mimi’s better at keeping her composure. “We’ll keep looking. And...you have a bag of dog food? Did you get a new dog?”   
Alison grins. “Yes! He's the most wonderful yellow lab. Doesn't behave too much though...quite noisy, too!” She laughs. Mimi smiles sympathetically.   
“Oh, that's too bad.”   
“Very much so.”   
“Er...what's his name?” Mimi attempts to make polite conversation. This is a weird situation and Roger is still staring, grief-stricken, at the flyer.  
“Oh, well, you see, he doesn't have one yet. He's feisty.”   
“Oh...alright.” Mimi turns to Roger and takes his hand. “Let's go. See you around, Alison.”   
Alison nods. The two walk their separate directions.   
Alison is smirking.


	8. The Hint Of The Century

_Do not go gentle into that good night_

_I think I could escape. If I just tried. I could take this off and...oh, what's the use? It's too heavy. What other option do I have…?_

_Old age should burn and rave at close of day_

_I...know what option I have. What if I let her keep torturing me until I die?_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_No. That won't work. But if I fight her-she'll torture me more. I’ll die quicker._

_Though wise men at their end know dark is right,_

_Or...or I could grab something while she chains me up outside...a knife...and end it all._

_Because their words had forked no lightning they_

_Or…._

_Do not go gentle into that good night._

_I could...I could try to escape. Maybe...maybe she'll forget when she takes me out of the chain sometime._

_Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright_

_When does she ever take me out of this fucking chain?_

_Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,_

_It's worthless. If I'd tried to escape earlier I could have done it. I would actually have a will...a reason to live._

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_But...I’ll kill myself. Yeah. That's it._

_Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,_

_Mimi and Roger are still looking._

_And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,_

_They'll find out it was useless. When I kill myself. And Al-she’ll find my dead body and she’ll…_

_Do not go gentle into that good night._

_Oh, god, I don't even want to think what she'll do._

_Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight_

_Especially...especially after what she did today._

_Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,_

_I know...on the outside, I seem...like someone else, like I've succumbed, like I've given in…_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_But I'll keep fighting. No matter how I go out. Whether it's by my own hand or my captor’s. I’ll keep fighting until it all ends._


	9. I've Said Too Much

The Diary of Alison Grey

 

Owner of the dog Mark Cohen

 

December 31

I found him! In the alley next to the restaurant on 3rd. I have him. I have him. I have him! I feel as though I could jump for joy. That is undignified. I must appear classy. Alison Grey, the great disgrace. How pitiful a legacy that would be. Back to the matter at hand...I have him. Mark Cohen. Friends with that insufferable...I believe she was a drag queen. The one who killed my dog!

 

Angel Dumott-Schunard. The very name enrages me. This is why I have him. Because he was that fool, that ass, that bitch’s friend. I took him from the alley and brought him back here. He is currently locked up in my closet. I did not have time to put him in the wall since my dearest Benny came home just as I was explaining the rules to my new dog.

 

How wonderful this pet will be.

 

January 12

I have had him for a few days now. Since the end of last year. He is my dog. I keep him inside the closet, behind the wall. Benny knows nothing.

 

January 16

 

Benny tells me Roger and Mimi have begun looking for him. I feigned innocence. Said I did not know where Mark was. That I hadn’t seen him.

 

I heard a bit of a scratching behind the closet door during this conversation, 

 

That will need to be remedied with a dose of punishment. 

 

January 17

 

The bitch! Granted, a bitch is a female dog, and he is male, but it does not matter what curse word I use-it still applies. 

 

I must use the lung crusher more. The fear in his eyes...I love it. It is amazing.

 

January 20

 

I must be more careful about this. Benny asked me what I was writing...I was unsure what to answer. The effects of the speed I’d taken earlier were still wearing off, and all I could say was “a book”. Idiot! You are recording this so you remember what the dog has done, what punishments still need to be doled out to him.

 

Today, however, alone in the house with the dog, it was most wonderful. He refused to eat from his bowl and even had the nerve to demand I feed him “actual food.”

 

Dogs don’t talk!

 

Of course I had to bring the Heretic’s Fork back out. Perhaps I will ~~find~~ make a Pear of Anguish. 

 

That will teach him a lesson.

February 28

 

Over a month since I’ve written. I must make sure they’re not on to me.

 

Roger and Mimi are not any closer to finding him.

 

This is a good thing.

 

March 5

 

The dog’s birthday.

 

I saw Roger and Mimi today. I’d just been out to buy dog food. They asked me if I’d seen him. I had a bit of fun with that-at first said that I thought I had, then told them I hadn’t. Roger in particular was amusing to watch at that point. He looked absolutely crestfallen. I soaked this up like a good tan on the beach in summer.

 

They walked away. They still know nothing.

 

I have begun a third painting. The blood also works well for nail polish.

 

March 15

 

He is almost complicit now, only resisting when the worst forms of torture are laid upon him.

 

Still I must be careful.

 

March 30

 

NO!!!


	10. The Slip

Mark is chained to the wall again. The cold metal of the manacle bites into his neck, denting the already deep red mark. His food and water bowls are placed in front of him. As though he were Tantalus. 

    “Don't leave!” calls Alison, her stilettos clacking on the hardwood floor. She cackles. “But it's not like you can.” She leaves, slamming the door, while humming about spring cleaning. 

_ This is it. I have to go now.  _ Mark glances around wildly, searching for a means of escape. The kitchen is far to his right. He can't get at any knives to cut the manacle, and if his escape attempt fails, he can't use them to kill himself, either. 

      Mark tugs at the manacle. Alison has left his hands unchained, for whatever reason. Mark has an idea about the reason, but he couldn't be entirely sure. 

      Whatever the case, his hands aren't pulling it off. He sighs in frustration. He tries to talk to himself, but no sound comes out. Maybe he's forgotten how? 

      “No,” says Mark, barely audible. “No.” He is a bit louder this time. “I’m...not...going...to...become her...what she wants...me...to be.” 

       Mark smiles- _ smiles,  _ for the  _ first time  _ in  _ months _ -triumphantly at the fact that he can still talk, that he’s human. 

      He stretches his hand out, trying to reach his...the food bowl. He just barely grasps it.  _ How…?  _ He tries to saw at the chains binding him with the bowl, but it fails. 

      Mark sighs again.  _ I’m never going to make it out of here! And I can't even kill myself!  _ He curls up into a ball, rocking back and forth. 

_ SNAP!  _ The manacle around his neck is broken. Mark stares at the broken metal halves in surprise. 

     “Uh…” he mutters.  _ Maybe...the strain was too much? They were weak, and Alison...ohgodIhateherIneedtostopthinkinghernameI’mgoingtohaveapanicattack…lied or thought they were stronger?   _

__ The mini, yet resisting part of Mark’s brain that matches his name, tells him  _ What are you doing? Get out of here, idiot! Before she comes back!  _

      Mark nods, swallows, and slowly stands up. At first he rocks back and forth. Then he tries walking forward. He hasn't walked on two legs in three months. 

      It's painful. But it's refreshing. 

      He grabs his clothes from inside the alcove behind the closet, puts them on, and runs out the door, all the way to the hospital. 

      He doesn't care if he can't pay for treatment.

       Roger and Mimi are on the couch. They say nothing. Then the phone rings. 

      Mimi picks it up. It's the hospital. 

      When they give her the news, her eyes widen. 

      “Holy  _ fuck!”  _ she yells, dropping the phone. She turns to Roger. “Mark’s at the hospital! They found him!”

       He scrambles to get up, takes Mimi’s hand quickly, and the couple runs to the hospital to see their boyfriend.

        When they get to his room, he's lying in bed, IVs stuck everywhere, watching TV. Roger runs up to him. “Mark!” 

         Mark glances at him. Nods to acknowledge Roger’s presence. Gives Mimi a little smile. 

        “Oh, Mark…” Mimi goes on the other side of the bed and takes Mark’s hand. “What happened to you?” 

        Mark shrugs, as much as he can. He doesn't want to talk about this. Not now. Not yet. 

        Roger and Mimi were told the basics- _ he’s been tortured and needs immediate care.  _ But they weren't quite sure what it meant. A lump forms in Roger’s throat, and Mark can see the question hanging in the air. He catches Roger’s eye and nods to give him permission. 

       Ask, Roger, ask already. You deserve to know at least the bare minimum. 

      Roger’s eyes become worried. His face seems...almost wrinkled. “Is it...I mean…” He swallows. And swallows again. What do-what  _ can  _ you say in this kind of situation? 

      Mark nods to prompt his boyfriend. Mimi gently rubbing her thumb on his hand, moving in small circles. It's comforting. Hypnotizing. 

     “Is it true? You were...you were tortured?” 

     Mark nods. 

 

    Roger falls to his knees, grabbing Mark’s other hand and burying his face in it. “Mark...oh, Mark...oh my god, I'm so sorry…” 

    Mimi looks at Roger, her face saddened. “We are sorry,” she says softly. “We should have-” 

   “No.” Mark cuts her off. “It wasn't your fault.” 

    And that's the first and last thing Mark says to them all day and all night in this hospital. They ask him how it isn't their fault, what happened to him, who took him, who tortured him, but he doesn't answer. 

    He pretends to be asleep to stop the questions. When he does fall asleep, the first nightmare happens.


	11. That Was Just A Dream

_Dark. Blue. Dark blue._  
  
_How eloquent, it sneers back at his thoughts. And how quaint-to think a mere dog could live up to my standards._  
  
_It takes shape. A shadow, a silhouette, the figure slowly gains color._  
  
_And the Monster’s evil smile._  
  
_She advances on him. He writhes. He's confined by something as soft as a cloud, yet as binding as handcuffs._  
  
_She approaches. Pushes him to the ground. I have won, she says-and it echoes around his head._  
  
_I have won. I have won. I have won._  
  
_She's carrying something. He can't see what it is._  
  
_The Monster places her hand on his throat. Wraps it around. I could kill you like this, she says._

 _No, he tries to say, his mouth stuffed with cotton, no._  
  
_He’s not able to say anything. His thoughts and The Monster’s voice combine into one._  
  
_You are mine! There is no escape!_  
  
_The Monster lets loose a cruel laugh, her teeth becoming fangs. Her jaw unhinges._  
  
_Mark screams._

 _FADE TO BLACK._


	12. Me In The Corner

         Mark is sitting up in the hospital bed. He's wearing a dark green shirt, his glasses perched on his nose. Mimi sits next to him. She's holding his hand, rubbing it gently. He tries to focus on the TV and Mimi's gentle rubbing.   
          _Get up._ Mark glances around wildly. No one. Just Mimi, who frowns. "Mark? Something wrong?" He shakes his head. Besides him telling his partners his capture wasn't their fault, he hasn't spoken to them. He just can't. If he speaks... _it's irrational,_ he thinks,  _to think that if I speak she'll know where I am. Is this how PTSD works? I mean..._ his thoughts fade. That's how it's been recently. Think a lot, or fade into silence. Into nothingness.  
         Mimi checks her watch. Noticing the time, she scowls. Mark flinches, just slightly, part of him worried the anger's for him. His rational side knows it's not. Mimi notices the flinch, and her expression grows dim. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says. "It wasn't meant for you." She kisses his forehead. "I have to get to work. I'll be back later. With Roger. I promise." She kisses his forehead once more, and then leaves. Mark simply gives the slightest of nods to acknowledge it.  
         Time is weird in a hospital. It always is, of course it is, it's a liminal space. Mark frowns, just slightly, thinking about this. How long will he have to be here, anyway? How bad is it? What she did to him...  
         He hears a knock at the door. He manages a faint, froggy, "come in". He's expecting Roger or maybe Maureen and Joanne-

         When the visitor steps into the room, he freezes.

         The first thing he notices are the heels. Red, like her dress. Slender arms clothed with long, thin hair. Her face is one he'd hoped never to see again. Her lips are pursed. Her red lipstick reflects the brilliant hospital lights. It must be a new shade.   
          _Fight or flight._ Confined to a hospital bed, neither of those options are available to him.  _Freeze._ His brain sticks with its trusty, typical method of dealing with this.  
         He's okay with her lips being pursed. Not with how they curl up into a smile. "Hello," says Alison, and she walks toward the bed. Click clack click clack. Clack. She's holding a bag, ever her seemingly favorite color,  _red._  
         He's not even sure what he's thinking at this point. His thoughts aren't his own. "I heard you were here. Decided to come by and say hi." Alison gives a dry laugh at the pitiful rhyme. "Pathetic. You wind up in a hospital, of all places? I thought you were stronger than that." Her smile is plastered on her face. She grins. "Of course doing anything to you wouldn't be fun now, when you're too weak to resist."  
          _I was always too weak to resist._  
         She places the bag next to his bed. "A gift. Besides, it'll lower anyone's suspicion." She reaches out a finger and slowly, deliberately, traces his chin, stroking it. He tenses up. Terrified.  
         "Oh, did you see my nail polish?" She holds out her hand for him to see. The same glistening red as her lipstick.

         The same red as her paintings.

         Mark's stomach is a knot.  _No...I could resist. Before she did anything. Before she took...before she took...my blood....my will to live...my...I..._

It's as if Alison can read Mark's thoughts. Her smile grows. "You don't like this shade, do you? Well, too bad. You're the one to thank for it. Without you, it would never have existed." Alison glances at a clock on the wall. "It's late. I'd better be going."  
         It's anything but late, but all Mark thinks is  _Anything to get her out of here._ She places her hand back on his chin, and in a moment that seems to take forever, she kisses his cheek. "My dog," she says. She turns around and leaves. 

         Mark is paralyzed. He was already bad enough, but...that last thing she did...

         The sound of heels clacking will never leave his mind. 


	13. Consider This

   The hospital has a program where a therapy dog can come to your room and comfort you if need be. 

   He chooses to forgo it. He doesn't know how he'd react around an actual dog. 

   The days are...well, not so much a whirlwind. More a fog. A dirty, slushy mud. 

    He's bad enough. It's worst when she's there. 

    She doesn't often visit him-only occasionally-but it's still awful. 

    After one of her visits, his nurse mentions his heart rate's sped up. 

    The nurses notice a pattern soon. They suspect it, but without any physical evidence, nobody can convict her. 

    He wants her to be gone. Forever. From his world, from his life. 

    They come together-holding hands. They kiss Mark. Obviously one at a time. 

    She's just visited. He can't return their affection. 

     _And you don't deserve to,_ says the mini version of her his head's created. 

    He wonders how sharp the surgery tools are. If they could kill a person.

    He decides he needs to get his hands on one. 


	14. Trying To Keep Up With You

There's no talking these days. Just Mimi and Roger watching Mark, sound asleep, in the hospital. 

    “But he's not sound asleep,” Roger whispers for the hundredth time. He's almost passive aggressive. 

    “He won't be if you don't shut up,” Mimi says, and she kissed Mark’s forehead. He almost flinches in his sleep and she recoils. “I wish he'd tell us what's wrong.” 

    “He was tortured. They  _ told  _ us.” 

    It's tense. 

    Mimi looks back at Mark, and starts stroking his hair. She's always been a caring type. 

    Roger fixates his gaze on a light. He wonders about physics, trying to get his mind off this godforsaken place and off Mimi and off Ap-off any other unpleasant things. 

    He traces the veins in Mark’s arm. Gently. Mark seems to relax.  _ Are you really asleep?  _ he wonders. And desperately wants to ask. 

    He doesn't. Mimi and Roger sit in silence, their boyfriend between them. 

_ This is as painful as a period cramp.  _ And Roger would know.  _ I mean, I'm sure Mark feels differently...being tortured and all…  _ He groans and puts his head in his hands.  _ We could’ve stopped it from happening!  _

__ Mimi looks up at the groan. It's brief. She frowns, just slightly, and turns back to Mark. They brought his glasses case here. It's on the bedside table. Clearly, his glasses are inside it. 

    Mimi wonders what's so bad-what-why Mark won't- 

    She swallows and forces her thoughts to be coherent.  _ What happens to him that's so bad that he won't talk? Why won't he talk? Why did he flinch when I kissed his forehead?  _

__  Mark stirs. Tossing and turning. The beep of hospital noises enters his dream. 

    But Mimi and Roger cannot. They don't-they  _ can’t- _ possibly know what's going on inside his mind. 

   Roger kisses Mark’s cheek. He meets Mimi’s eyes. Defiant. 

   As if they were saying  _ I love him more.  _

   But it doesn't have to be a battle. It's not a contest. 

_ Not a contest,  _ Mimi communicates back with her eyes. 

   But who knows if Roger can read them? 

   The hospital euphony continues. 


	15. I Set It Up

Mark finally gets out of the hospital. He's still barely speaking. 

    Roger and Mimi have to help him walk. He's gone through physical therapy-after what he went through, he’s absolutely  _ had  _ to learn how to walk again-but it's still hard. They flank him, each holding a hand tightly. They walk home in silence. 

    Mark is glad for the quiet. He'd rather think of nothing than have Roger and Mimi bombard him with questions about The Thing again. 

   Roger is thinking about whoever took Mark. He wants to pound that captor-that  _ asshole- _ into the dust. 

   Mimi thinks they'll need to take care of Mark. A lot. 

_ Oh, God,  _ she remembers,  _ the hospital bill. _

__ She curses. She almost does so out loud. 

   But all three of them are silent. 

   Finally, they get home. Mark goes straight to their room and curls up in bed. Falls asleep nearly immediately. Roger and Mimi glance at each other. They're worried, of course, who wouldn't be? 

    But what on earth can they do for him? 

    They sit in the living room, doing nothing but thinking-with the occasional glance at each other. 

    They're still wondering. 

     If they ever find out who did everything to him-the Captor had better watch out. 

     Roger and Mimi might be good as a couple, but they're even better as partners in crime. 

 

      Halfway across town, someone is tearing up pieces of paper to get her frustration out. Her husband isn't home. Next to her, on the floor, are two dog bowls. Food and water. 

_ Somebody,  _ she thinks,  _ needs to stop taking my pets away from me.  _

_      Somebody needs to pay.  _

 


	16. Choosing My Confessions

April 17th. 11:30 A.M. Eastern Standard Time.

     Mark is feeling better, and Mimi suggests they all go to the Life for lunch. Mark agrees. He's actually talking again. The complaint this time purely comes from Roger-he says they act too much like the Life is the only restaurant in the world, that it would be nice to go to another one sometime. Mimi reminds him that after the culmination of the hospital bills they barely have enough to _go_ to the Life.   
     And so they go. It's not a date, not really, besides, Mark isn't quite up for that kind of thing just yet, and it's nice to just go get lunch from somewhere other than a hospital cafeteria or a 7/11. The Life isn't overly crowded, which is good because Mark doesn't know how he would handle that right now. And it's not too noisy. They're about to find a seat when they run into two people-  
    "Oh, Benny, Alison, hello," Mimi says politely, smiling cordially. She doesn't notice how Mark turns white as a sheet of printer paper.   
    Roger, however, is even more clueless. "Hey," he says. "So what's going on with you guys?"  
    Mark dashes off to the bathroom.

    Mimi frowns. "Mark?" she says, worried. She touches Roger's arm. "I'm going to go make sure Mark is okay." She walks off and goes to check on Mark. Roger is somehow clueless.  
    Alison smiles. Roger sees nothing in it but friendliness. "We're alright," says Alison. "I was thinking about getting a new pet...maybe another dog."  
   Benny has a hand on his wife's shoulder. He's also smiling. He loves her. "Yeah, she does like her dogs..."  
   "Oh! And I've begun a new hobby." Alison pulls a small Polaroid photo out of her purse. In the photo is a painting of a labrador in all red. It's good.  
   "You're talented," Roger says. It sounds nearly awkward. What can he say? Making small talk with your landlord and his wife is a bit hard.

    Meanwhile, Mark is kneeling in front of a toilet, sobbing, while Mimi stands behind him concerned, her hand on his shoulder. "Mark?" she says softly.  
    "It's her," he somehow manages to gulp out. "She's here. Sh-she...she forced me to be her dog..." Mimi frowns, confused. "Forced me to eat dog food...to...to..."

    The whole story comes tumbling out. Mimi stares at her boyfriend, gaping. His eyes are red and puffy, because he's been crying the whole time he's been telling her. With the last line, Mimi finally knows who the Captor was.  
    "It's Alison," he says. "Sh-she...she's wearing her nail polish."   
    Mimi can't remember the last time she's ever hugged anyone so tightly.

    Mimi tells Mark to go out the back. When she comes back to the main part of the restaurant, Roger is still talking to Benny and Alison. Oblivious Benny and cruel, vindictive Alison. She knows Alison's smile as a twisted feature now. Mimi grabs Roger's arm and he turns to her, surprised. "We need to leave now," she says. She has a strong grip.   
   "Wh-"  
   "Mark got sick. Threw up in the toilet."  
   This much is true.   
   "Mimi-"  
   "C'mon." She smiles, seemingly apologetically, at the rich couple. She leads Roger out of the Life, her mind twisting and turning, formulating a plan.

    Watching  _Chicago_ so many times did pay off. 


	17. Every Waking Hour

               It's sunny, the day it happens. Cloudy, but sunny. Fog nearly grazes the top of the building. Mark leans against the door to the roof, Mimi gazing intently out at the city. They hold hands.   
               It's nice.  
               Roger's still sleeping. He and Mark went on a date last night, so Mark and Mimi decided it was time they get some alone time. Not that they did anything on the roof. Mark remembers one time when he and Maureen did do something, but...that's another time. Another person. He looks at Mimi and gives her a smile. Another love.  
               And he knows he loves Mimi much more.  
               "What are you thinking about?"  
               The question forms out of nowhere. Mimi herself isn't sure why she asks...isn't sure where it came from.  
               "How much I love you."  
               Mark knows as well as anybody how cheesy that sounds. He's almost regretting saying it when he notices Mimi breaking into a grin. She steps closer to him.  
               "And how much is that?"  
               Their eyes meet.  
               "A lot. So much that it's immeasurable."  
               Mimi smiles and kisses him.  
               It really is immeasurable-Mark has no idea how much he loves Mimi and Roger, but it's a pretty hecking huge amount.  
               There's a knock behind them.  
               They glance at each other.  
                _Roger?_  
               No way he got up this early.  
               Though Mark feels his fear is ridiculous, he goes over to the other side of the roof, out of view of the door, as Mimi opens it.  
               "Hello, Mimi," says Alison.  
               Mimi is a deer in the headlights. But she regains her composure quickly enough. "Alison. I wasn't-"  
               "Quiet," Alison cuts Mimi off and strides past her. Her eyes flicker over the roof. "Where is he? My beloved pet..." She turns towards Mimi, suddenly grasping her arm with an iron grip. "I know you took him!" She hisses, her eyes blazing.  
               Mimi yanks her arm out of Alison's grasp, glaring at Benny's wife. "He told us everything! And you-you-" Mimi sputters over her words, so angry she can barely speak. "You can't have Mark. Nobody can. He's his own person, for fuck's sake,and you're more of a dog than you ever tried to make him into!" Her voice crescendos and then comes to a halt. "And I'll  _die_ before I  _ever_ let you find him."  
               Alison smiles her cruel smile. "I hope you're ready to take that vow to heart."  
               Mimi scowls. "Of course I am, you-"  
              She's interrupted by quite a few pigeons cawing. She and Alison turn towards the noise.  
              Mark is standing, frozen, against the roof's ledge. His eyes are wide, searching.  
              Alison grins. "My pet, my love, my sweet, sweet dog," she croons, stalking over to him. Nowhere to go-nowhere to-  
             Her arms wrap around him. She holds him close, stroking his hair as if she's...  
              _Petting a dog._

            Never underestimate Mimi Marquez.

            Mark can't even hope Mimi will save him, he's relapsed, Alison owns him, he's a dog, he's never been a person-  
             _No. No. No no no. Cold. So cold. Too much red.  
            _"There, there, doggie. You're mine. You're safe with me...my own...my pet..."  
             _Hers-her dog-  
            _"Hey, Alison!"  
            Alison, much like a cliché villain, lets go of Mark. She stands up, turning around to scowl at Mimi.  
            Mimi stands just like a cowboy in a duel from a Wild West movie. In her hand she holds a rusted pipe.  
            Alison's shrill laugh cuts through the air. If Mark wasn't frozen right now he would plug his ears.  
            "And just what do you plan to do? Are you going to try taking my pet away from me again,  _honey?"  
            I escaped, _Mark tries to say. No sound comes out.  _I escaped. I did it myself. I can do things. I escaped...  
            _Mimi smiles. Mark feels reassured by it. A warm, true smile to counteract Alison's cold, false one. Mark finds himself smiling when he sees Mimi. She walks toward Alison, talking as she does so.  
            "Look," she says. "My name is Mimi Marquez. You killed my boyfriend's will to live. Prepare to die."  
            "Prepare to-?! AAH!"  
            Alison is cut short as Mimi jabs the sharp metal pipe straight into her chest. Mimi yanks it out just as quickly, the end dripping blood.  
            Mark backs away from the red liquid.  
            Alison is struggling to breathe. "I could-I could-do you know who I am?!" She stumbles over to the roof's edge, trying to hold onto the ledge for support. She's wobbly-heels aren't good on this roof.  
            "I will go to the ends of the earth to protect either of them," Mimi says. "Like I said-I'll  _die_ __before they get hurt. And you won't be able to hurt Mark anymore." Mimi gives one last, hard shove, and Alison tumbles off the roof, screaming the whole way down.  
            Her screaming fades, only to be replaced with-  
            "Clapping?" asks Mark, finally coming out of his daze now that She is gone. He and Mimi turn to look at the rooftop door where Roger stands, a faint smile on his lips, cradling Mark's camera in his right arm.  
            "Really good show. Enjoyed the  _Princess Bride_ quote," Roger comments.  
            Mark stands, a bit unsteadily. He walks over to Mimi and wraps his arms around her neck. He grins. "My hero," he says, half joking, half sincere.  
            Mimi lifts him up bridal-style and twirls him around. They both laugh. Mimi brings Mark's head to hers so she can kiss him.  
            Roger is filming the whole time. 


	18. Epilogue: All These Fantasies

   It’s June now. Mark has given up the dark green shirt for a white one and jeans. He's better at taking care of himself now. His hair is brushed, his glasses are washed, he's back to using his camera again and there is a faint smile on his lips.  
   And of course-it's today.  
   Any other relationship might have decided on a wedding. But they're not any other relationship.  
It was Mark’s idea, too. The   commitment ceremony. They still have rings. No priest, though-no priest or rabbi or ship captain. Just themselves.  
    A wedding would've been too big for Mark, anyway. He’s still wary of people, though not as much as he once was. As for Roger and Mimi-they feel they wouldn't live long enough to enjoy it.  
    So Mark heads up to the roof. Mimi is already standing there, looking beautiful. Roger is next to her.  
    Mark lets himself go for a bit, and though he can never quite remember _exactly_ how it went, he remembers being the happiest he's ever been in his life. It's a perfect antithesis to how his life’s been recently.  
    At the end, Mark stares at his ring finger. It's simple-the ring, that is. Brass and perfectly fitting. Somehow. And it's his. Roger and Mimi examine theirs in a similar way. Mark loves them. He's never felt it more in his life.  
    _In the South, “losing your religion” meant falling in love_.  
Mark has fallen in love all over again.

               THE END 


End file.
